


When Things Are Different

by sassy_cissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationship, M/M, discussions and descriptions of domestic violence and abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/pseuds/sassy_cissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever awakened one morning and looked at your life, and wondered how the fuck you'd got there?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Things Are Different

**Author's Note:**

> Written for singlemomsummer for her prompt for Glompfest 2012.

Draco winced as he slowly shifted into consciousness, stirring on what felt as unforgiving as the floor. He opened one eye just enough to determine he was, in fact, lying on the hardwood floor. Squeezing his eyes closed, he remembered that Sebastian had come home the previous night in a foul mood, which wasn't unusual these days. But his mood quickly disintegrated from foul to abusive before Draco had a chance to prepare. As with most of these episodes Draco found he didn't remember the beginning of the fight, but only the ending when he was on the hard, unforgiving floor and Sebastian had used his hands and feet this time to get his point across.

"I don't know why I've even bother with you. I mean, you're a decent fuck. But beyond that...you're a complete waste of space." Draco remembered curling into a ball, arms protecting his head, waiting for the next blow to fall. He knew there was no rhyme nor reason to them. Draco had moved his arm to cautiously peer out and found Sebastian staring down at him as he quaked.

"You're a fucking coward, Malfoy," Sebastian spat out. He gave Draco one last kick in the kidney, turned and stormed out of the flat.

The flat was dark now, telling Draco it was still night and if he was finally going to do this, he needed to move quickly. He'd contemplated it for months, but his excuses and resistance were at an end. Trying to push himself into a sitting position he cried out, clutching at his side. He ached from head to toe. Gingerly he crawled from where he lay to the fireplace, scraping some of the spilled Floo power into his trembling hand and hoping to Merlin it would be enough.

"Pansy's flat," he called out hoarsely into the green flames. "Pans..." his voice trailed off. He took a deep breath and cried into the fire. "Pans, I need you."

"Oh for the love of Morgana's saggy left tit, Draco." He heard the voice before he saw her face. "I don't hear from you for Merlin only knows how long and then you wake me up at the ungodly hour..." She appeared in the flames tugging on a robe. When she looked down and caught sight of his face, she stopped. "Oh god, oh fuck. Can you move over a bit? I'm coming right through."

She stepped into the room, immediately dropping to her knees at his side. "Oh darling," she said with pain in her voice, "what happened?"

Draco looked up at her. He could scarcely see her through his swollen eyes. "Later," he wheezed. "I need to get out of here, but..." He winced when she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Can you help me gather my things?"

"You need a Healer," she insisted, shifting to cradle him against her. "Oh Draco, look at you." Tears shone in her eyes as she brushed his fringe tenderly from his eyes.

"What I need is to get out of here before Sebastian returns." He looked pleadingly at her. "Please, Pans."

"Can you stand?" She shook her head at his sigh. "I will not leave you lying on the fucking floor!"

He nodded. This was going to take more effort than he thought he had left, but laboriously he climbed to his feet. "Oh fuck," he groaned, reaching out to catch himself on the mantle when he swayed. Slipping her arm around his waist, Pansy carefully helped him over to a chair. Draco told her which wardrobe was his and what to take from the bath. He leaned back in the chair, gripping his ribs and fighting the fatigue that threatened to overtake him. His body ached but he knew he had to keep a clear head if he was to get out of there.

"Draco," Pansy returned to the room, holding what looked to be the sleeve of his black cashmere sweater in her hands. A large tear spilled down her cheek. "Your wardrobe is nearly empty. All that's left are a few scraps of clothing." She held up the sleeve. "I'm fairly certain he used a Shredding Charm on your clothes.

"Of course he did," Draco said wearily. "Well nothing to be done for it. Pans, there's a false bottom in the wardrobe." He struggled to keep his tone even. "The catch is in the back right corner. Open it. There should be three miniaturized trunks in there. Just leave everything else."

She hurried back to the bedroom. Draco waited until she returned with the small trunks in her hands. "I'm half tempted to Incendio the bastards entire wardrobe," she said grimly. "But I expect I'll just have to be content with having put a little curse on all his briefs that will squeeze his bollocks until he sings soprano."

Draco gave a small half-grunt in appreciation. Pansy dropped the trunks in her robe pocket. "Anything else we need to take?"

"He can keep it all, torch it for all I care," Draco replied, struggling to his feet. Pansy grabbed his arm and helped him to the fireplace. She reached up and took down a photograph of Draco and Sebastian from the mantle. They were smiling. She looked briefly at her friend's swollen and bruised face before pitching it with all of her might against a far wall. The sound of shattering glass had them exchanging of look of grim understanding.

She threw in a handful of Floo powder, wrapped her arm around Draco's waist, and called out home before they stepped into the green flames.

**********

 

Pansy sat on the edge of sofa, next to Draco's hip. She ran her hand gently down his back, remembering the deep bruises and scars she had recently seen there. When they arrived at her flat, Draco had nearly passed out from the short Floo trip. She'd helped him onto the sofa, and waited until his face gained more colour. They'd moved slowly to the bathroom and Pansy prepared a bath, pouring in several potions that would help with the bruising and the muscles she knew had to be aching.

What she wasn't prepared for was the extensiveness of the mottled damage and the old scars she knew he'd not had before meeting Sebastian. It had been all she could do not to gasp aloud at the discoloured and battered body of her best friend. Now as he slept fitfully, even after he'd taken both Dreamless Sleep and pain potions, she made a decision.

She rose and moved to the fireplace. A glance at the clock told her it was just after five in the morning and she prayed that she'd be forgiven for what she was about to do...by both of her friends.

The flames flared green and she called out softly, "Harry...hello?" What felt like several minutes passed and she tried again. "Potter! I need you."

"Christ on a raft, Pansy," came the raspy response moments before Harry Potter's face appeared in the flames. "If you need me to intimidate some arsewipe you can't get to leave..."

"Can you come through?" she interrupted. "Please. It's important and I can't leave right now."

He quirked a brow at her but stood. "Give me a minute to put some trousers on. I love you, but I really don't want to be traipsing about in my pants."

She gave him a small smile and nodded. "Hurry."

Harry came thru a few minutes later, hair a rat's nest of sleep time clumps but trousers in place. "Now, what's the big rush?" he said brushing soot from the sleeve of his jumper.

She held a finger to her lips and pointed toward the sofa. After Harry looked at the sleeping figure, a frown between his brows, she gestured with her head and led the way to the kitchen. Once inside, she moved swiftly towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist, her face resting against his chest.

"You're shaking, " he said, his voice filled with concern as he enfolded her in his arms. "What's going on?" He ran a hand up and down her trembling back, the other hand tilting her chin up so he could look at her. "Come on, I'll put the kettle on, and then you can tell me what Malfoy is doing here."

She shook her head, concern furrowing her brow. "He called me a few hours ago. From his flat. Harry, it's bad." Her voice shook as she spoke.

He curled his hands gently around her arms. "What's bad?"

Tears filled her deep brown eyes. "He's covered in cuts and bruises and there are… scars. New ones, not from the war. I'm pretty sure…no." She took and released a deep breath. "I know he's been beating him."

"Beating him? Malfoy?" She nodded. Harry glanced toward the living room. "Who's been beating him?"

"Sebastian Resni….something. The prick he was living with." She swiped at the odd tear that fell down her cheek. "Remember, I told you. We stopped hearing from him a short time after Draco started seeing him. He wouldn't return our calls, mine or Blaise's. It's been nearly eighteen months. And when I ran into him in Diagon Alley last month, I swear he was wearing a Glamour, even though he told me he wasn't."

"And I'm here because…?" Harry looked at her questioningly. "I'm not a Healer, Pans. I'm an Auror, in case you've forgotten."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "And that's exactly why you're here. He won't let me call anyone, but that bastard needs to be stopped or have his bollocks removed with a spoon. Your choice."

"And exactly how am I supposed to do that if Draco won't file a report?" He huffed out a soft chuckle at the cock of her head and the lift of her brow. "The stopping him part, love, I'm certain I understand the removing his bollocks part…" He cringed.

Tears began to flow in earnest down Pansy's cheeks. "You didn't see him. Lying on the floor, broken. More broken than he ever was during the war. Even when the Manor was insanity central. Harry, I'm scared for him."

Harry pulled her back into a hug and held her as she cried. "I'll see what I can do," he promised.

"You can't tell him I called you," she whispered against his chest. "He needs help, but he'd be mortified that you know."

He nodded, pulling away to lean against the table. "I'll check out some things today, but I'm going to come back tomorrow." He raised a hand against her protest. "It's Thursday and we've had dinner together every Thursday for the last six months. If you don't want him to know you told me, we've got to come up with a plausible story. This way, you can warn him before hand or you can act surprised when I Floo in. Either way, I'm coming over and maybe, just maybe, between the two of us – we can put Malfoy back together."

She moved close and went up on her toes, leaned in and kissed his scruffy cheek. "You're a good man, Harry Potter. Now, go home and shower and shave. You need to run off and save the world from villains."

He kissed the top of her head. "Right now there's only one person I'm interested in saving and he's taking a kip on your sofa."

**********

 

Back in his own flat, Harry stood in his shower, trying to make sense of the last hour.

His thoughts went back to the month after the war, and a day he'd long since tried to forget. He had contacted Draco and asked him to meet for a drink. When Draco arrived, Harry returned his hawthorn wand. He'd expected Malfoy to leave, but he hadn't. He stayed and they had a drink...that had led to supper. After supper they found themselves walking together along the Thames. Harry remembered he'd been surprised at how easy their conversation had been. It seemed that once they were no longer trying to kill one another, they got on fairly well.

During a lull in the conversation, they found themselves in the shadow of a large tree. They stopped and Draco looked at Harry, his clear eyes wide and fearful, but resolved. There was a pause, and Harry caught his breath. The next moment led to the single most defining kiss of Harry's life. It was slow and gentle, and surprisingly innocent. When they'd stepped apart, Draco touched Harry's kiss-swollen lips with his finger and said “If only things could have been different” before Apparating away.

Harry'd kissed many men since, but none of those kisses had rocked his soul like the one with Draco Malfoy.

There were many times Harry wished he'd had the courage to go after Malfoy, to ask him what he'd meant by things being different, but he hadn't. He'd regretted it more than once, even if the only living soul he'd ever admit it to was himself.

Malfoy moved to Paris for a while, and Harry finished Auror training. It was two years into his new career when he'd been called out in the middle of the night to investigate a case of harassment that had turned ugly. When he'd arrived at St Mungo's he'd found Pansy Parkinson, the victim of several different hexes that had apparently been fired at her in retaliation for what she'd tried to do the night of the final Battle at Hogwarts.

Harry hadn't blamed her, not even at the time. She'd been frightened, and he'd understood why. For her part, she didn't believe him when he told her that she'd been a terrified kid and he hadn't held it against her. But he sat at her bedside at St Mungo's while she'd been recovering from burns and boils, taking her statement but then staying so she wouldn't be alone. She hadn't wanted her friends to see her that way and her parents were dead, and he'd understood that, too. Then he'd gone after her tormentors with single-minded intensity and made sure they were brought to trial.

Harry was nothing if not determined, and he was determined to show Pansy that he was sincere when he said he wanted them to become friends. She was funny and quirky, and something about her seemed to reach out to him even when she stuck her small chin in the air and told him 'I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Potter, thank you very much.'

She seemed to be alone to him, since Draco had disappeared with his latest partner, Blaise travelling much of the time, and due entirely to Harry's dogged persistence, they'd become close. He loved her sense of humour, her passion for life and he knew, without question, she was a fierce friend. It was an unlikely relationship and his other friends thought him mad, but that didn't dissuade him. He liked her, and that was all there was to it.

 

Most days Harry took the underground into London, but today his mind was in overdrive. He was too impatient to get into his office and do some checking on Malfoy's ex to waste any time. There was something about his name that had him on edge. He managed to Floo in and get up to his office with a minimal amount of distraction. Once there, he closed the door and looked over the files on his desk. Nothing that couldn't wait, he decided.

He pressed the button on the intercom. "Grace, can you make sure I'm not disturbed?"

The door opened and his administrative assistant stepped inside. She reminded him of Molly Weasley in stature, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Molly was a consummate motherly type, Grace was born to run an office; efficient, brilliant at deciphering his reports and loyal to a fault. She seemed to have a sixth-sense about what he needed and she'd anticipated his request on more than one occasion. She carried a small tray set with tea and some chocolate biscuits that she set on the edge of Harry's desk. "I decided to bring this in before you get wrapped up in something and forget to eat."

He smiled up at her, rubbing the back of his neck. "I did sort of skip breakfast."

She gave him a smile and turned to leave.

"Grace?" She paused. "Sebastian. Why does that first name seem familiar?"

The smile left her face. "There was a bulletin that came in a couple of weeks ago, remember? The Russian consortium. He was rumoured to be part of that. Nasty bastard."

Harry felt his blood turn to ice. "Right. Ties to Solntsevskaya Bratva. Vicious group suspected of involvement in murder for hire, drug trafficking, and extortion. This Sebastian bastard was wanted in the disappearance and suspected murder of several young gay men."

Grace nodded. "I'll bring you whatever we have on them. Or are you just interested in the Sebastian character?"

"Mostly Sebastian, but bring me everything. I want to get as much information as I can. If my instincts are right, this prick is in London, or was recently. Bringing him down would make my year."

"Not to mention your career," Grace told him. "But I suspect it's not about career advancement." His direct, resolved stare was all the answer she required. "Right. Back in a bit with that file."

The door had barely closed and Harry's fingers flew over his computer keyboard. Not for the first time as an Auror, Harry gave silent thanks to Hermione and her insistence that they figure out how to integrate computer technology into the Ministry.

Harry's computer finished running the search he'd programmed. The monitor split with a photo on one side, data on the other.

He looked long and hard at the picture before reading, committing the face to memory. He was fairly attractive, Harry thought. Dark hair, with dark, deep set eyes and a shallow cleft in his chin. But even in a photograph Harry thought he could see evil in those eyes. His focus moved to the data on the other side of the screen.

Sebastian Reznikov Mother was Italian and father, Russian. Born in St Petersburg, raised all over Europe. Father was a former KGB agent – allegedly one of their most skilled hit-wizards. Died five years ago under suspicious circumstances. Mother's where-abouts currently unknown.

Sebastian was suspected in the death of five men between the ages of twenty-two and thirty in three countries, the most recent in Scotland. He'd been brought in for questioning on three of the murders but no charges were ever filed.

Harry stared at the screen. "Slippery bastard, aren't you? If you planned on making Malfoy your next victim, you'd best think again," he said aloud. "You may be slick, but I'll be damned if you'll get away with this." He hit the print button and continued skimming the file.

He looked up when there was a knock at his door. "Come in, Grace."

She smiled as she entered. "Able to see through doors now?"

"Well I could tell you I used my incredible powers as Head Auror, but we both know better," he laughed. "And as I told you I wasn't to be disturbed, you'd lose a limb before you let anyone else through that door."

She crossed the room and put a tray laden with sandwiches on the small table by his desk. "And we both know bringing in lunch is an excusable offence."

"You're the best, Grace," he said as she left. He reached over and picked up a sandwich before going back to his files. By the end of the day he hated Sebastian more than he had before and was determined to bring him down.

The afternoon passed in a blur of arrest reports and court documents. His disdain for Sebastian Reznikov had grown, but he truly hated the man's solicitors. They continued to paint Sebastian as a misunderstood youth, traipsed around Europe by his distant, globe-trotting parents. Never one place to call home, raised by nannies, it had led him to 'act out' but he wasn't really bad. "Bollocks," Harry said aloud. More like dragging him about, teaching him how to get what he wanted – no matter the cost or if a life was lost. He sat back in his chair, considering all the data he'd collected when Grace poked her head in the door.

"If you don't need me," she said, "I'm going to head out for the evening. Roger will be wondering if we've run off together. And don't you have dinner with Pansy tonight?"

"Shite!" Harry jumped up from his chair. "She's going to have my guts for garters!" He grabbed his cloak from the coat rack. "It's my turn to pick up dinner."

"She'll understand," Grace replied, stepping out of his way. "You go on; I'll close things up here. Won't take but a jiff."

Harry pecked her on the cheek. "I owe you one!"

"And I won't let you forget it," she teased with a warm laugh.

Harry hurried to the lift, squeezed into the first one and burst out when it stopped in the Atrium. He raced down the crowded hallway and slid in front of an old wizard to take an empty Floo up to the street. "Sorry, Cuthbert," he called out as he was swept away in the green flames.

On the street, he slid his cloak into his briefcase before stepping out of the alley to join the throngs of Muggles as they headed home. He ducked into The Rock & Sole and prayed Pansy would forgive him greasy fish and chips for dinner, giving only a brief thought to whether or not Malfoy would join them.

He scurried down the block and over into the Leaky. He waved at Tom as he rushed to the fireplace. "Thursday...late for dinner, Parkinson's gonna gut me!" he wheezed out over his shoulder as he slid to a stop at the hearth.

Nearly tumbling out of the hearth in Pansy's kitchen, Harry pulled up short when he saw Draco on the floor, back against the couch in the sitting room, fresh blood running from a cut above his eye. He opened his mouth and Malfoy gave him a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Harry backed against the wall, setting the bag full of take away on the table and sliding his wand into his hand.

"Just go," he heard Pansy say, her voice trembling. "But Draco's not leaving with you."

"It's fine, Pans," Draco said quietly, his eyes still on Harry's. "If that's what it takes to get him out of here..."

Harry heard a voice he didn't recognize, but the accent made his eyes widen, then narrow. "That's a good whore, Draco. Come back with me. My dick's been missing its favourite hole and you need to be taught a lesson."

Harry stepped into the room, wand raised. "Back the fuck up, Reznikov. No one's leaving with you."

Sebastian spun and fired off a hex at Harry. Harry deflected it with barely a twitch of his wand.

"Don't make me repeat myself," he said darkly. "Back up, you arsehole; get away from them both."

Rezikov smiled slyly. "Why, how charming. A protector."

"Potter!" Draco cried as Sebastian shot off another curse.

Sebastian's eyes grew wide and he stared at Harry. "Potter? Well, well, Draco, it seems you've made a new friend, and a powerful one at that. I wonder how you'd like to see his blood boil inside his body?"

As he spoke, his attention moved to Harry and away from Pansy. She used the split second of negligence to knee Sebastian viciously in the groin. He groaned and bent over, clutching himself, cursing in Russian. He looked up at her, his eyes full of fury. "You will pay for that, little bitch," he snarled, then Disappparated.

Harry rushed to Pansy, catching her upper arms in his hands. "Did that bastard touch you?"

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. "If you'd clean those glasses, you'd see that I'm the one bleeding here, Potter."

Pansy gave Harry a small, reassuring smile then went to Draco. She helped him up from the floor, eyeing his head with concern. "We need to get you to St Mungo's. He hit you so hard." Her voice quivered and she drew a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe at the blood still seeping from the gash on Draco's head. "Harry, we have to take him."

"No." Draco's voice was firm. "I'm not going." He gave a wry half-smile. "This is nothing, I've had worse and I'm quite adept at a healing charm of late. Head wounds are a bit tricky, having to do it while looking in a mirror."

Pansy gave a small sob. "Draco," she looked horrified. Dropping her face into her hands, she began to cry harder.

Draco looked over at Harry, a lost expression on his face. "Potter… help."

Harry moved over and pulled Pansy to him. She turned her face to his chest. "Sorry, Malfoy, but I'm with her on this one. You need to see a Healer and then we need to go to the Ministry so you can fill out a report."

Pansy pulled away from Harry and moved toward the fireplace.

Draco paled even more. "N-no. No Healers and no reports." He looked at Harry, eyes wide with fear and something else. Harry'd seen that look on before. He'd seen it on the faces of witches when he'd answered domestic violence calls. The fear and shame in their eyes. He understood the look now and it nearly killed him to see it so plainly on Draco's face.

"Fine," he said after a moment. "I've had training in basic healing, Pans. I'm sure I can get this sorted." He held up his hand when she looked like she was going to argue. "Can you get me a basin of warm water, a couple of flannels and some Essence of Dittany?"

Draco looked around the room. "Where do you want to do this, Potter?" he asked wearily. "And for the love of Merlin, I'd better not have a scar. It may be a fashion statement on you, but with my delicate colouring, it's just not on."

Harry gave a sharp laugh, delighted to hear some of Malfoy's snark returning. "Only you'd be more worried about a scar than the fact that I'm about to point my wand at your head."

Draco gave a negligent shrug. "Pansy would gut you where you stand if you caused my brains to spill out on her Aubusson."

After cleaning the wound, Harry pointed his wand at Draco's head. "Vulnera Sanentur," he intoned. He repeated it again, then asked Pansy for the Dittany. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and put a small drop on the nearly healed wound. It gave a small sizzle and the spot on Draco's head disappeared leaving unblemished fair skin behind.

"Christ, that burned," Draco complained.

"You're welcome," Harry countered.

Pansy, who had watched from near Harry's shoulder, picked up the bowl with its pink water and soiled towels. "Is anyone hungry?" she asked. "Who knew that unsolicited visits from Draco's old paramours would leave me ravenous?"

"Actually, I'm hungry, too," Draco said, his tone lighter. "I suppose the return of my appetite is a good sign."

Harry noted that while his demeanour was casual, the look in Draco's eyes still spoke of the fear he felt. He went to the kitchen and returned, holding up the now grease-laden bag by two fingers. "Well I'd brought dinner, but it doesn't look like it will be any good now."

"Morgana's droopy tits, Potter," Draco exclaimed. "The odour of grease from that bag is positively nauseating!" He shuddered over-dramatically. "I'd have to spend the next week at the spa having the oil removed from my pores."

"I was in a hurry, and it was the quickest place on the way here," Harry said. "And it's a damn good thing I didn't stop somewhere else. Merlin knows what I would have found."

"Play nice, children," Pansy warned. "We can unclog your pores tomorrow, Draco. Right now I want to eat, and greasy fish sounds like just the thing."

Harry carried the bag of fish and chips back into the kitchen and helped Pansy put things in bowls while Draco followed them gingerly, and over Pansy's protests, insisted on setting the table. She went to where Harry was taking the food from the bags and mouthed "Is he going to be okay?"

Harry nodded and mouthed back, "Patience." Which earned him her middle finger in reply.

They sat around Pansy's small kitchen table eating the re-warmed food. They were nearly finished when Harry finally spoke. "How did he find you?"

Draco looked up in surprise. "I'm not sure. I may have mentioned Pansy to him. He's not stupid. I imagine he made a few inquiries and found her flat."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense, but we warded the flat. How'd he break through the wards?"

"He didn't," Pansy said quietly. "He came through the Floo. He must have come from their apartment. We...I didn't think to close it off." Tears filled her eyes.

Harry reached over to cover Pansy's hand with his. Draco made the same movement from the other side of the table and their hands touched briefly. Harry felt a tingle, almost like an electrical shock, shoot from his hand where they made contact.

"You couldn't have known he'd try this, and frankly I blame myself for not expecting it of him. I've a feeling Sebastian doesn't take rejection well."

Draco snorted softly.

"Anyway," Harry went on, "I don't think it's safe here anymore. He knows where you are. Even if we put up more wards, he'd still find a way to get in here."

"He won't quit until he gets me back," Draco said in a small voice.

"He won't quit until he kills you," Harry corrected, giving Draco a level look. "He's no longer just looking to get you back. He's looking for revenge and he won't care who he hurts along the way." He gave Pansy a meaningful look.

"We could go to a hotel," Pansy suggested.

"Still not secure enough. In fact you'd probably be safer sleeping in Diagon Alley."

"Well Mr Auror extraordinaire," quipped Draco, "just where is it you'd have us go?"

"My place," Harry replied.

"Perfect." "Ridiculous." Pansy and Draco said in unison.

"Draco," Pansy implored. "How can you say that?"

"He's just being stubborn; I'm guessing this is how he gets," Harry said.

Pansy smiled. "Oh, yes, he's always been too stubborn by half."

"You two do realize I'm right here and can hear you talking about me, right?" Draco drawled.

"Of course," Pansy said. "Now be a good little guest and help me get your things together. Harry's right. It's not safe here and I'll be damned if I'll let that son-of-a-bitch touch you again. And do not even think about arguing with me, do you understand? Harry is right, and you're going to listen to him!"

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Bossy bint."

"And damn proud of it," she said over her shoulder as she left the room. Draco followed a few moments later, and Harry watched him go with a slight smile playing around his lips. Pansy was a force of nature when she chose to be.

It took less than twenty minutes for them to gather what they needed and relocate to Harry's house just outside of London. He'd sold Grimmauld Place to wizarding developers and watched in grim satisfaction as it had been torn down, then purchased the small, picturesque cottage with the thatched roof and river rock foundation just on the outskirts of a wizarding village. The townsfolk knew he lived there, but they left Harry alone for the most part out of respect, and jealously guarded his privacy from outsiders. He was 'one of theirs', and as such was provided the same protection as people who'd lived there all of their lives. He knew his wards were second to none, but he thought old Mrs Thimpristle who lived next door could do some damage if anyone tried to break in.

Once Malfoy was comfortably ensconced in his bed and Pansy was in the small guest room, Harry found himself seated on his sofa with a drink in his hand. The sofa was comfortable, and he knew he could get a decent night's sleep there. Plus, the fireplace in the living room was the only one connected to the Floo network, and if someone tried to come through, which would be all but impossible, but still… he and his wand would be waiting for them. He'd considered warding it, but with his position at the Ministry that wasn't an option.

The house was quiet and he'd just finished off his firewhisky and stretched out on the sofa when he heard a creak in the hall. Immediately on alert, Harry slowly straightened, peering through the darkness toward the doorway. After a moment, a head of white blond hair appeared as Malfoy hovered uncertainly.

"Do you need something?" Harry asked softly. "I mean, are you all right?"

Malfoy nodded. "Just not sleepy, believe it or not. After the potions I've ingested I should be in a coma, and yet…" He spread his hands.

"Would you like a firewhisky?"

Harry saw his teeth flash briefly very white in the gloom. "Potter, I'd sell what's left of my kidney for a firewhisky."

"Have a seat." Harry gestured toward a chair by the fire, then pushed to his feet and padded barefoot across the living room to his liquor cabinet. He felt a moment's embarrassment that he was wearing only cotton pyjama bottoms low on his hips and a thin t-shirt, but brushed it aside. He couldn't exactly worry about his appearance when he'd been ready for bed.

He poured a liberal splash of liquor into a heavy crystal tumbler; the set of six had been a gift from Hermione, and far nicer than anything else he owned. He crossed to where Malfoy had lowered himself gingerly into the chair.

"Are you hurting?" He held out the glass, and Malfoy took it gratefully. He drank half of it before answering.

"Yes. But please, let's not tell Pans. She's just gone to sleep, and I feel guilty enough involving her in this mess."

Harry sat on the couch, his hands clasped between his knees. "You shouldn't. She loves you, and she's been worried about you for months." Malfoy grimaced and took another drink from the glass. "Besides, if you Floo'd someone else," Harry went on, "there'd have been hell to pay when she found out."

Malfoy huffed out a rough chuckle. "Truer words. She told me how you'd stayed with her. After the incident." He looked down at his feet before raising his gaze and meeting Harry's. "Thanks for that. I should have been here for her."

Harry gave a non-committal shrug. "Seemed like the right thing to do. And besides, with Hermione busy working and raising a family, I needed a bossy, know-it-all in my life," he said with a laugh and smile.

"Not to mention cunning and bitchy. Quite the combination."

"And loyal to a fault," Harry finished. "She didn't betray you by telling me what had happened to you. She was genuinely worried for your safety, and rightly so it seems."

Draco nodded. "It felt that way at first, when she explained that she'd called you. But after hearing the whole story of how you'd taken care of her and made certain that her attackers were brought to justice..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

They settled into comfortable silence, Malfoy drinking his firewhisky, Harry staring into the low flames in the fireplace. He heard Malfoy set his glass on an end table next to the chair. There was another long pause, but Harry could almost feel Malfoy's troubled thoughts.

"Have you ever," he began tentatively, "awakened one morning and looked at your life, and wondered how the fuck you'd got there?"

Harry chuckled roughly. "I did that every day for about seven years running."

Malfoy ran his hand restlessly through his hair. "I imagine you did," he said finally. "Actually, so did I, but for completely different reasons." He sighed. "I'd hoped that once the war ended, I'd be smarter than to allow anyone to make decisions for me ever again." His voice lowered and he stared disconsolately at the floor. "Apparently not."

"If you don't mind my asking," Harry said carefully, "how did that happen?"

Draco looked at him sharply. "Maybe I do mind." His voice was waspish.

Harry shrugged, thinking the anger was more embarrassment than insult. "Then don't answer."

The ensuing silence was more weighted than any before, but Harry wasn't about to break it. Finally, Draco sighed heavily.

"He was charming, all right?" he blurted. "He was charming and he flattered me, and he bought me expensive gifts and… and..." Draco cut himself off abruptly.

"And what?" Harry kept his voice quiet and as gentle as he knew how. After a moment, Draco's shoulders fell and his head dropped forward.

"I was lonely." He sounded defeated. "I was… lonely. And the first time he hit me, he was apologetic. He swore it would never happen again. He even cried." He laughed bitterly. "And I believed him, and I kept on believing him. Every time he hit me and apologized, I'd go back to the twisted bastard. Fuck." He ran both of his hands down over his face, then dropped them into his lap. "You must think I'm the biggest idiot alive."

"I don't."

Draco shot him a look of disbelief.

"I don't," Harry reiterated. "Malfoy, how do you think abusive partners get away with it for so long? They're almost uniformly completely charming or consummate liars, or both."

Draco looked up through his fringe. "How do you know?"

Harry's grin was lopsided. "Auror, remember? I've answered a fair number of domestic violence calls in my time."

"Oh, yes," Draco drawled. "Super Auror Potter, still hell bent on saving the world from evil, one battered witch or beat up queen at a time." The nastiness that Harry remembered from their youth was absent from his voice, rendering the comment wry rather than rude. "Whatever would we do without you?"

"Slip into anarchy, no doubt," Harry quipped. Draco shot him a faint smile.

"No doubt." He picked up his glass and took another sip of the dark firewhisky, cringing. "Bloody stuff could kill you. Easier way to go than Sebastian's left hook, however." The comment was glib, but Harry saw the shadow on his handsome face.

"There is something you should know," he said impulsively. He hadn't been going to say anything, but if it could prevent Malfoy from going back… Malfoy looked at him and waited. "There's a recent report that crossed my desk, from Interpol."

"Inter… what?"

"Interpol. It's an international law enforcement organization. The MLE is connected to it and Scotland Yard via computer. Anyway, there was this report. Sebastian's last name is Reznikov, isn't it?" Draco frowned, but nodded. "He's recently been implicated in connection with a powerful crime family in Russia." He paused. "He's also under investigation in the murders of several young men. All gay, all of them beaten to death."

Draco blanched, what little colour there had been in his face fading and his hand jerked, the crystal tumbler falling to the floor and rolling across the carpet. He buried his face in his hands. "Christ," he muttered. "I thought he was lying…"

Harry was off of the couch and at his feet in moments, his hand reaching out to curl around Draco's upper arm. "What did he say?"

Draco inhaled deeply and dropped his hands. "That he had no qualms about killing me because he'd done it before, and if I didn't just lay back and take it, he would simply add me to his list of dead lovers who hadn't behaved." He swallowed heavily. "That with my parents gone and my friends unconcerned about me, he could kill me and no one would even miss a former Death Eater scum like me." Tears lined his lower lids. "And he was right, wasn't he? Who would care?"

Harry squeezed his arm. "Pansy would care, and Blaise. And I would care, Draco. I would."

Draco looked at him in patent disbelief. "Why the hell should you care?" he said. "I've never been anything but an arse to you."

Harry shook his head slowly. "That isn't true," he said. "There was that one time. When we walked along the Thames, and talked." His voice dropped as his hand smoothed down Draco's arm. "And you kissed me, remember? I've never been able to forget."

Draco was staring at him, pale eyes very wide. He licked his lips. "I haven't, either," he said, so softly that if Harry hadn't been sitting at his feet, he'd never have heard him.

"You touched my mouth, after," Harry went on, "and said ‘if things had just been different'. I've never been able to figure out what you meant."

Draco took and released a deep breath. "I meant that… things couldn't ever… be anything between us because I'd made all of the wrong choices." He smiled slightly, but his eyes were sad. "Something I continue to do, apparently." He shook his head. "Gods, I'm so stupid."

"You aren't," Harry insisted. "Like you said, you were lonely. I understand loneliness, Draco. You'll do almost anything to have someone just look at you, pay attention to you. And if they say they love you? You'll do almost anything to keep that."

"You do understand, don't you?" Draco murmured.

"I grew up with no parents and a family who hated me," Harry replied. "I'd have given anything to have someone just…" He stopped and swallowed, realizing he might have said too much.

"To have someone what?"

Harry stared into the wide eyes, figuring in for a penny, in for a pound. "To have someone just hug me," he whispered. "No one hugged me. So I do understand needing…"

His words cut off in surprise when Draco lurched forward and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him in until he was tight against his chest. Draco held him, tight, and Harry gradually encircled his slender frame, holding him back. They sat that way for several seconds, until Draco turned his head and laid it on Harry's shoulder.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"We could be."

Draco stiffened, then drew back, large eyes searching Harry's face.

"You said ‘if things had been different', right?" Draco nodded, his eyes still watchful, careful. "Well, they could be, couldn't they? I mean, not right now because you're still dealing with… well, everything. And maybe not for a while, because you'll be healing and might want to be alone and all. But maybe after that, at some point, we might…"

"Potter, you're babbling," Draco said, cutting off the ramble, his eyes beginning to shine faintly. "But in answer to your question…" he reached out and touched Harry's face, his fingers sliding gently over his chin. "I think… maybe, once things are settled, we might…" he paused and took a deep breath. "I think - maybe."

Harry smiled and curbed his natural impulse to pull Draco back into his arms, knowing he might need to go slow. "Good," he said, allowing his smile to widen. "Good to know."

Draco smiled back for a moment, then straightened slightly in the chair. "I want to put Sebastian behind me before… I want him gone," he completed, sounding resolved. "How do I do that?"

"Well, getting away from him was a good start. We just need you to lie low until…"

"No." Draco shook his head. "I want to help."

Harry sat back on his heels. "Draco," he began, but Draco leaned forward, his hands going to Harry's shoulders.

"There are things I know," he said intently, his voice lowered. "Places he goes, the names of people he meets with. I can help."

Harry studied the new determination on Draco's face and after a moment nodded.

"All right," he said. "Perhaps you can. In the morning I'll take your statement, and we'll see what we can do with it."

"Good." Draco sat back in the chair, looking suddenly tired. "Good."

Harry studied him, allowing his chest to fill with anticipation for the arrest of Reznikov, and maybe so much more.

**********

 

It was nearly three weeks before Reznikov popped up again. Harry felt certain that he'd been laying low and waiting for the opportunity to snatch Draco and possibly even Pansy. While waiting was not especially Harry's forte, he used the time to put together a meticulously planned 'sting' to capture Reznikov.

On three separate occasions, two of Harry's best Aurors, Ian Willoughby and Brett Rothwell, were seen in the Leaky Cauldron during lunch speaking disparagingly about their boss' taste in friends. On Wednesday, Willoughby was overheard telling Rothwell, over a lager, that his boss had dinner every Thursday with Pansy Parkinson and that last week he'd heard Potter telling his secretary that Draco Malfoy had begun to join them.

"I nearly vomited when Potter started rambling on about how much fun they'd all had." Willoughby said, his lip curling. "How the hell can he sit at the same table with those two?"

"No clue, mate," Rothwell replied. "For fucks sake, Parkinson tried to hand him over to Voldemort and Malfoy was a Death Eater!"

"And this is the man we're supposed to respect and listen to. Christ!" Willoughby exclaimed. "I can't wait to transfer out. I've applied to the Unspeakable division. At least that head isn't a lover of traitors!"

His Aurors had reported back to Harry that two Russians had been in the Leaky again and listening to every word of this conversation.

On Thursday, Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch...alone. He sat at a corner table and ordered a bowl of beef stew and a pint.

"How's the wife, Tom? Jeremy must be nearly a year old. Where does the time go?"

"Eating alone today, Harry?" Tom asked.

Harry smiled. "Just ran out for a quick bite today. You know I meet Pansy every Thursday for supper. Thought I might head to her place early today and surprise her."

"Good. You work too hard; do you some good to get out of the office early. Eat that bread while it's hot, Lizzie baked it fresh this morning."

Harry nodded as he tore off a chunk of the steaming bread. His air was that of nonchalance, but he'd noticed Sebastian the second he slithered into the room. He managed to track his movements without ever once turning and looking at him head on.

Sebastian hung to the dark shadows of the walls as he made his way to Harry's table.

"I love a good surprise, don't you, Auror Potter," Sebastian practically purred into Harry's ear. "Now be a good little Auror and pretend I'm an old friend."

Harry played his role perfectly. "What a nice surprise," he said loudly. "Have a seat, will you? Tom's stew is fantastic; can I have him get you a bowl?"

Sebastian shook his head and spoke under his breath. "Here's how this is going to work. You're going to suddenly remember a meeting back at the MLE. You're going to apologize to me and then you're going to suggest I go with you. To see where you work. Understand so far?"

Harry struggled to keep his anger under control. He nodded curtly.

"Excellent," Sebastian said. "When we get outside, you're going to take me to Malfoy."

Harry didn't reply.

"Do not attempt to play the hero, Mr Auror-man. It's so old and overdone by you." Sebastian grasped Harry by the arm. "I know people far worse than your Voldemort and with far fewer scruples."

When Harry still didn't move, Sebastian began to twist Harry's arm. "Do not test me. I have two men outside who will blow this place at my nod. It is no consequence to me if I die. I will be a hero in my country for taking down the great Harry Potter." He gave a sharp laugh. "And once you are gone, my associates have explicit instruction on how to dispose of Draco Malfoy and his little friend, Miss Parkinson. So, Harry Potter, do you understand how this is going to work?"

Harry saw a quick movement to his right. He turned to Sebastian and smiled. "Why yes, you useless piece of shite, I understand exactly how this is going to work."

As he spoke, the team he had in place went into action. Ian hit Sebastian with a Stunner, as Harry twisted out of his grasp and stood. Sebastian hit the floor with a loud thud. Ropes shot from Harry's wand, restraining Reznikov where he lay.

"Ennervate," Harry said coldly.

Reznikov began to twist wildly on the floor. "I will kill you, Potter! You will not get away with this! My associates..."

"Were taken into custody seconds after you came in."

"Liar!" Reznikov spat out.

"I may be many things, but a liar is not one of them." He placed his foot on Sebastian's throat. "Now lie still and let me tell you how this actually did work. You walked very neatly in to my trap. Once you were inside, your associates were surrounded by a team of Aurors and placed into custody. Two of my best Aurors then Polyjuiced themselves into your pitiful excuse for associates and resumed their positions." He shook his head. "Never lose your focus, Reznikov. While you were busy spouting about how this was going to happen, my team got to work. You never even noticed that we emptied out the entire place right under your nose."

Reznikov began to struggle, and Harry's foot pressed down a bit harder. "Don't make me do it, because it won't take much more at all before I snap it, and I’d hate to have to fill out the extra paper work killing you would require. Rothwell," Harry called out, "come pick up the trash, would you." He lifted his foot and stepped back.

"Be happy to, boss," Rothwell replied. He hauled Sebastian up to his feet and led him to the door.

"You've got nothing on me," Sebastian roared. "My solicitors..."

"Are going to be useless this time," Harry finished. "And you have no idea what I have on you, but I hear Azkaban is lovely this time of year. You'll be arriving just in time for a rainy fall and a cold winter. Have fun with that."

Harry walked over to the bar, where Tom had resumed his usual position. "Thanks for your cooperation, Tom. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Happy to help, Harry."

Harry spent about forty-five minutes debriefing his team and then sent everyone home.

"Home," he said to himself, suddenly very anxious to tell his house guests it was finally over.

**********

 

Harry stepped out of the Floo into the living room, where Draco and Pansy were huddled together on the couch nervously. The moment he was clear of the flames, Pansy was off of the sofa and launching herself into his arms.

"You're all right!" she cried, hugging him. He could feel her trembling in his arms, and hugged her back.

"I'm fine," he said into her hair. "Just fine."

"Well?"

He looked over the top of her head, and found that Draco had risen as well and was standing, staring at him, his heart in his eyes.

"We got him," Harry said, and he saw relief flood the handsome face. "He won't bother you ever again."

"Oh, thank God!" Pansy cried, turning from Harry to throw her arms around Draco's neck. She wept into the front of his shirt. "Thank God, Draco!"

Draco's held her, but his eyes lifted to Harry's over her head.

"Thank you," he mouthed, his eyes misty.

Harry merely nodded, his heart lifting. He started to turn when he felt a hand curl around his wrist, and before he knew it he was being hauled into a three-way hug. He felt Draco's lips against his ear.

"Things can be different, now," he whispered.

Harry wrapped his arms around them and squeezed them both tight.

**********

 

Hands came at him out of the dark, and Draco jerked awake, his heart pounding. He gasped and stiffened.

"I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry," a deep voice said near his ear. "It's just me."

Draco exhaled shakily. "You're home."

"Mmhmm," Harry slipped his arm around Draco's waist from behind, and pulled him gently back against a firm body. Harry was naked and the feeling of all of that smooth skin against his made the muscles across Draco's shoulders relax. "Caught an early Portkey. I missed you."

"Missed you, too," Draco murmured, reaching back to rub his hand up Harry's sturdy thigh and onto his taut arse.

"Apparently." There was humour in Harry's voice, and Draco turned his head when Harry's lips brushed his neck, finding his mouth in the darkness.

They'd been together for nearly a year, almost from the moment Sebastian had hit him for the last time, and Draco had never imagined himself so loved. It hadn't always been easy; Draco had been significantly traumatized and he still saw a mind healer twice a week. But Harry was remarkably patient, and Draco was astonished to find life could be as good as it was.

He knew it was all because of the man behind him, the man who had been gone on a diplomatic mission for three days and who had apparently missed him quite a bit if the erection rubbing against his arse was any indication. Draco arched his back and let Harry's stiffness slide in the valley between the legs, stroking his perineum with a damp tip, nudging his balls.

"I want you," Harry murmured.

"I figured that out for myself, actually," Draco teased.

"You always were the smartest wizard of your year."

"Well, there wasn't a lot of competition, actually," he murmured, sighing when Harry reached between them, a slick index finger circling the sensitive skin around his entrance. Draco found it amusing that his lover had apparently broken out the lube in the bedside table even though he hadn't been awake yet. "When you take Goyle and Crabbe into consideration. And then there was Weasley and Finnigan. And that Potter person; he was a nightmare." Harry's finger slid inside of him, and he caught his breath.

"Play nice," Harry said, reaching for and almost instantly finding his prostate.

"I will if you do," Draco gasped, lifting his top leg and looping it over Harry's thigh, opening himself further to his probing hand. Harry chuckled against his ear, a hot brush of damp breath on his skin. He nipped Draco's neck, leaving a stinging spot behind. Harry slid his finger in and out of the clinging heat and Draco felt his muscles tighten instinctively. Every time Harry's fingertip stroked his prostate his toes curled. He added a second finger, curling them to provide circular massage to the tight bundle of nerve endings, and Draco's back arched, his cock twitching and filling.

"Touch yourself, love," Harry murmured into his ear. "I've been thinking about this for three days, and I need to be inside of you."

"Pushy, pushy," Draco huffed, but he reached back with his hand. "Lube, please?"

"So polite," Harry teased. Draco felt the cool, tingling gel fill his palm, and he brought it back to his prick, stroking it slowly at first but speeding when Harry's fingers began to move more quickly into his arse. It didn't take long before Draco was moaning, his back arched as Harry's fingers stretched and loosened his opening.

"Enough," he groaned finally. "Enough. I want to be able to feel you."

"You're still tight, Draco," Harry protested. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me. Or do you want me to get there without you?"

"Fuck, you're bossy."

Draco felt the thick head of Harry's cock press against his hole and he began to enter slowly, cautiously. Unwilling to wait, Draco grabbed a fistful of the fitted sheet and pushed back, impaling himself almost completely. He cried out, but it was sound of pleasure, not pain.

"Come on, Potter," he ordered. "I want you all."

"Son of a bitch," Harry groaned but jerked forward unceremoniously, until his groin was flush against Draco's arse.

Draco reached back and caught Harry's hip, holding him still as his body stretched around the invasion. It burned – even after three days he'd tightened up a lot. But it was a perfect burn, an exquisite pain. It was heady, and he moderated his breathing, loving the sensation of Harry's cock stretching his rim, of the curve pressed upwards against his prostate. He continued to move his hand on his erection, now fully formed, and tightened and relaxed around the hard length inside of him.

"You've got to stop," Harry gasped. "If you keep doing that I'll lose it without moving a muscle."

"Don't you dare." Draco countered. "All right, you can move now."

"Well, thank you so very much, your highness," Harry laughed.

Draco had a response on the tip of his tongue, but Harry pulled back and slid back in, and all coherent thought flew from his head. "Oh, God, yes," he moaned, bending slightly from the waist so that Harry's prick slid over the sensitive spot inside of him again and again.

Harry grabbed his shoulder and began to move in earnest, and Draco pressed back in counterpoint. His fist flew on his aching flesh, slick with lube, a fitting accompaniment to the dirty perfect squelching sound of Harry moving inside of him. He jerked his prick hard and then harder yet, and he felt the tell tale fullness and drawing sensation in his balls.

"Close," he managed. "Close, Harry."

"Okay," Harry said roughly. "Yeah – just…"

He gripped Draco's hip, fingers digging in, and he rolled his hips in a hard, grinding motion. Caught completely unprepared, Draco cried out and felt his orgasm roll through him, so strong and so hard that he felt for a few moments that he’d left himself, as if he was suspended somewhere where sensation was everything and his release went on and on.

When he came back to himself, he'd been rolled onto his stomach and Harry was on top of him, fucking him in the unsteady, sharp thrusts that indicated his own impending orgasm. Draco tightened down as much as his abused muscles would allow, and Harry cried out, stiffening, holding himself inside as far as he could go. He jerked once, then twice, then collapsed on Draco's back with a drawn out sigh.

They were quiet for several minutes. Finally, Draco stirred, then grimaced.

"Potter, you rolled me into the mess," he complained.

"Your mess," Harry muttered against the back of his neck. "Not my fault."

"It most certainly is," Draco countered. "Unless that's someone else's prick up my arse."

"Let me check." He felt Harry stir. "Nope, my prick. So it must be my fault." He paused. "I guess that means you want me to move."

"The man is brilliant," Draco muttered. "Yes, because I do rather like breathing and you're heavy, you twat." Harry withdrew carefully and still Draco hissed.

"Sorry. I tried."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. You're not that heroically hung despite the rumours."

He heard Harry laugh. "Big enough for you."

"I'm bigger." Draco spoke directly into his pillow, too exhausted to move.

"You aren't."

"Where's the ruler; I'll prove it."

"You don't need a ruler when the evidence is right here at hand." Harry leaned close and kissed the back of his neck.

"This is an old argument, Potter, and your fascination with the size of your prick is infantile."

Harry laughed outright. "You're the only person I know who actually uses infantile in conversation."

"That's because the people you know are dunderheads."

Harry laughed harder. "Dunderheads? Really?"

"How else would one describe Weasley? Even his wife says he's thick as a tree."

It was true; Draco had heard Hermione Granger-Weasley say it himself.

"I'm sure Ron has talents even his wife can appreciate," Harry said wryly.

Draco's nose wrinkled. "Eww! Do not say things that make me think of freckled arse cheeks. Do you want me to lose my dinner?"

"Never that." He felt Harry's hands circle his ribcage. "Come here and give us a cuddle, yeah?"

Draco sighed extravagantly but let Harry pull him to his side and against his chest. Harry then wrapped himself around Draco, arms and legs, and pressed his face into the spot where Draco's neck turned out towards his shoulder.

"You're such a child, Potter," he complained. "I'm not a teddy." In spite of his words, he reached up and threaded his fingers into thick, damp black curls and stroked his thumb over a smooth forehead.

"I love you," Harry murmured, letting loose a deep sigh. Draco could tell from the almost immediate settling of his breathing, his chest rising slowly and steadily against his spine, that he was already asleep. He smiled faintly.

"I love you, too," he whispered.

Staring into the darkness of their bedroom, Draco luxuriated in the feeling of the strong arms holding him and the lean, hard body curled behind him. Never could he have imagined where he ended up, that he and Harry would ever be anything but at odds. But he supposed Harry had been right.

Things could be different.

Fin


End file.
